My Crimson Crayon
by Ztarlight
Summary: A little slice, a little scratch... it's not like he was hurting anyone else... [SonAmy; rated for language and content]
1. Chapter 1

…I was going to write this sometime last month, but the crisis I based the plot on had, for the most part, settled down, and it was one worry less on my mind. However, in the recent times since that moment of freedom, the problem has come to surface once more. This is not the only chapter. If I can't talk the party in question out of his idiotic manner by speaking directly, I began to think that perhaps a more subtle approach will be more effective.  
  
You know who you are.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
My Crimson Crayon  
Chapter One  
  
.  
  
"They call me Sonic."  
  
He heard the words over and over in his head. Were they his words, or was it something the fans had concocted within the bowels of their idiotic heads?  
  
"They call me Sonic."  
  
Doesn't matter where they came from, he thought in disgust. The message was out, and it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.  
  
"They call me Sonic."  
  
He couldn't be an active citizen, oh no. He had to be a hero. Always by your side, ready to give a helping hand, and all that other bullshit the media liked to feed to the people. They didn't know what he was really thinking. They didn't know the stress it had on him. They didn't know what it was like to be such a respected figure… he had no political power, he wasn't paid, and he if ever failed, if he ever THOUGHT about failure, it would be so.  
  
"They call me Sonic."  
  
And he could not afford to fail.  
  
No one could understand the stress it took on him. If he ever failed, everything would be lost, and because he was such a well-known figure in this society, it's unlikely anyone would forgive and forget. No one could understand what it did to him… no one would understand what he decided to do about it.  
  
He sighed and shifted his weight as he watched out the window of his apartment, watching the city below. This was his city. Without his guidance, Station Square would fall.   
  
"They call me Sonic… well call me something else, damnit."  
  
He took a small step to the right and heard a clink underfoot. Glancing downward, he saw a glimmer of metal sticking out from beneath the fire-engine red sneakers. A small smile began to spread across his face, becoming more maniacal with every teensy second it grew. Any one of his friends would be frightened by the laugh he made to match.  
  
Friends? What friends? The blade was his only friend…   
  
He had found it… well, he didn't remember how it came into his possession. It was one of those block razor blades; the type one would use to cut lines of coke with.  
  
But he didn't need to cut coke.  
  
He had his arm. 


	2. Chapter 2

My Crimson Crayon

Chapter Two

"Hi Sonic!"

Eh boy. Not her. "Hi Amy."

The young girl giggled into the telephone. "Say, guess what?"

He sighed, making the best attempt he could to sound remotely interested. "What, Ames?"

"I got two tickets to that new movie!"

"Great! You get to see it twice!"

Amy pursed her lips and glared at the phone with disgust. It was times like these when she wondered why she liked Sonic so much. "Very funny."

"I thought so."

She took a breath, refusing to let his moping bring down her good mood. "So um, anyway, I was thinking that if you're not busy tonight, you want to come with me?"

A movie. Hmm, could be interesting. He gets to watch and see how much someone _else's_ life sucks. A change of pace, if nothing else. "…Alright. When does it start?"

"It starts at 7:20. Should I pick you up?"

A sudden jolt ran through the cobalt hedgehog as he realized what a state of disarray his apartment was in. He couldn't let Amy see this! What would she think? "No, I'll pick you up, around seven."

Amy grinned. What a gentleman he was… "Okay, terrific! See you then!!" 

As the dial tone echoed through Sonic's bedroom, he had to ask himself why he cared for Amy's opinion. He scoffed. Knowing her, she'd think it was the new design craze and tell all her friends about it. A nice girl, Sonic thought, walking over to his closet for something to wear, but a total airhead.

He had to be choosy of his outfit. Granted, it being November, it was starting to get chilly, though his fur kept him warm. Still, a nice sweater made him look very attractive; plus it covered his 'artwork'.

Sonic stopped and stared at his reflection in the mirror on his dresser, the ebony sweater in his hands. He released the garment from his clutch and let it fall to the floor, disregarding the soft plump at his feet. 

Why did he suddenly care about covering the marks? It didn't bother him a few days ago… of course, he didn't have to go out into public a few days ago.  On one hand, he shouldn't care what anyone thought. On the other hand, he was still a role model to the entire nation… what would they think if they saw the deep scratches in his arm? How would they react to the blood-encrusted razors on the floor near his bed? The people would be disgusted; they would shun him for trying to release a little stress. 

It was a horrible cycle. He had to please the people that made him miserable. If he didn't he would lose their respect and their love, however media-fabricated it had been, and it was this respect that sustained him still.

It was so confusing to the teen… but he understood one thing: no one should know.

He put on the sweater.


End file.
